Aubade
by pellaz
Summary: Tir McDohl and Luc meet in a bar and discuss True Runes. Pre-Suikoden 3, spoilers for Suikoden series.


  
He was jolted awake by something familiar.  
  
Luc held himself still in bed, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Beside him in the next bed, he could tell Sarah was asleep from the sound of her deep, gentle breathing; and on the floor between them, the strategist was also asleep, his breathing as deep but catching ever so slightly with a snore. Luc rolled his eyes and sat up in bed.  
  
Beside the door, there was a small table. His eyes were drawn against his will to see Yuber sitting there, chin propped in one hand, dealing himself a game of cards by the light of a candle. He glanced up at Luc and, a smirk tilting up the corners of his lips, tipped his hat slightly. Luc looked away quickly. Gods, but he hated that... that _thing_. 

"Something wake you up?" Yuber drawled, drawing the cards together and tapping them against the table. 

Luc slid to the edge of his bed and pulled on his boots. He was already dressed, his gloves on; he had found early on that he didn't want to be unclothed and unprepared in his present company. "Yes," he said simply, standing up and heading for the door. 

"Don't get your soul sucked in," Yuber called after him as the door swung shut.  
  
It was late; the bar had emptied since supper. Still, it had quite a number of men, regulars he imagined, sitting around drinking their late-night pick-me-ups. Luc scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar head, a familiar face, even the familiar sound of a not-quite-adult voice. 

There--in the corner. Alone, of course. Luc hesitated, clenching his right hand into a fist. He found himself unaccountably nervous. It had been so long. He'd been such a--a child when last he'd seen this person. And this person... this person had been precious to him. How long had it been? Fifteen years? He wondered what sorts of pain had been suffered in those years. Yet he knew that, whatever terrible pains were inflicted, they would be borne gently and serenely, with the sort of dignity he'd only seen rarely. 

Taking a deep breath, Luc went over to the table in the corner. He hung back at the last moment, taking a moment to just look at him. He saw him as a stranger might: a youngish boy, on the verge of manhood but still a child, muscles toned but body slender, with thick, dark hair covered by a cheerful-looking bandanna. He wondered if everyone could sense the hidden potential that lay within this person. Not everyone could sense the Rune, of course; but that had never been all there was to him.  
  
"Hello, Tir," he said quietly.  
  
Tir jerked his head up sharply. Again, a jolt pierced Luc, this time at the sight of his eyes. For a moment Tir looked simply shocked; then his lips spread in a wide smile and the somber look on his face lightened. "Luc!" he said, standing up. He seemed about to hold out his hand, then put it to his mouth, a little unsure what to do with himself.  
  
They both sat down at the same time. "It's been so long," Tir said, shaking his head. "Ah--would you like a drink? I usually stay up and have something to get me to sleep around this hour." 

"I'd like that," Luc said, and Tir motioned the waitress, a buxom young woman, over.  
  
"My friend would like a drink," he said. "Ah...." He glanced at Luc questioningly.  
  
"Just some Calerian brandy, please," Luc said.  
  
The waitress gave him a disbelieving glance. She shook her head and sighed. "Sugar, I'm sorry, but your voice ought to have at least deepened past an alto to get a drink here." She smiled at him. "Tea?"  
  
Luc sighed. "Tea. Yes. Please."  
  
Tir laughed a little after she left. "I've had some problems with that, too," he admitted, taking a sip from his own glass and showing it to Luc. It was milk. "Usually Gremio just orders something for me."  
  
"You're still traveling with Gremio, then?"  
  
"Yes, of course." Tir looked into his glass and frowned. "I thought... at first... it might be difficult. Myself unaging and him getting older and older as we traveled. I had imagined how terrible it would be, how I would have to watch him die... but... it hasn't been a problem. He hasn't aged a bit. I imagine it's because the Soul Eater still has a grip on him. Now, I feel guilty about that." He laughed slightly. "I can't win, I suppose."  
  
"I could have told you that."  
  
Tir looked surprised. "Oh."  
  
"Well," Luc admitted, "perhaps not have told you with absolute _certainty_, but I could have guessed. The Soul Eater's powers are great. My mistress may have freed Gremio's life from the Soul Eater, but it may have been too hard even for her to rescue his soul." 

"Oh," Tir said again, looking a little confused as to the difference.  
  
The waitress brought his tea, and he dropped a coin into her hand. She patted his hair and ambled off good-naturedly to a table of cat-calling older men. "So," Luc said, taking a sip, and grimacing. It was far too bitter for his tastes. "How have you been faring, these past fifteen years?"  
  
"Tolerably," said Tir, lifting his shoulders a little. "We don't stay in one place too long--don't want to get too attached to anyone, you know." Luc nodded his understanding. "Yes, well. I fear it might be a little hard on Gremio, but he never complains. Someday, though... someday I may have to let him go off by himself for a while." His eyes took on a far-away look; then, with a blink, he returned to the present. "Anyway, we stayed in various parts of Dunan for a while. That was for about two years. Then we went back to Toran and I just fished. For about five years. Enough for little Ko--remember him?--to grow up, anyway. Then we left and went to Harmonia. That was interesting."  
  
Luc grimaced.   
  
Tir chuckled. "Oh, it's not too bad. I felt sorry for the people, though. Normal folk, most of them, but Hikusaak has that Rune. The Circle Rune. I wasn't looked on too kindly because of my hair, but Gremio fit in very nicely." He smiled at the memory. "Well, we left after a year and went back to Toran... we always seem to end up there. And then we made a trip to the Grasslands and Zexen, and we've been here ever since. Pleasant country."  
  
"I think it stinks." Luc swished his cup, hoping to ease the bitterness a little. "It's full of barbarians and selfish trading bastards."  
  
Tir laughed. "I rather like those 'barbarians'. They're so simple and kind because they hardly know any other way to be. Look, a little girl gave this to me." He reached inside his cloak and brought out a little bracelet made from prettily-colored beads. "A little Karayan girl. She was so sweet. As for the Zexens... well, good people live there too. It's too bad their leaders are so corrupt."  
  
"Corrupt leaders breed corrupt people."  
  
"Not always," Tir said gently. "You're from Harmonia, aren't you?"  
  
Luc flushed, and looked away. "Some might say I've been corrupted," he said bitterly. "Beyond hope."  
  
"I wouldn't say so."  
  
"You're biased," Luc muttered.  
  
Tir smiled, but ignored the comment. "I didn't think you liked me when you first met me," he said, taking a sip of his milk and putting the glass aside. "And, truth be told, I thought you were the worst brat under heaven. But I was young, and you were young, and I've learned. You were a friend when you wanted to be, and I am grateful for that. Because I needed all the friends I could get. I still do," he added softly.  
  
He'd never been able to articulate to anyone why, exactly, Tir McDohl was so important to him. It was many things, after all. His gentle speech, aristocratic and intelligent without being haughty, and his way of phrasing harsh things so that they didn't sting like an insult. His eyes, honest and open and sad; his dignified, mannerly bearing; his sadness that didn't press upon you, but merely made you feel that you were better for being in his presence. But mostly, it was just the way he made Luc feel.  
  
Vaguely, Luc remembered a Harmonian nursemaid who had taken care of him when he was very young. He had been too small to remember what she looked like; she could have been first-class or even third-class, for all he knew. The only thing he remembered clearly was the way she made him feel. Warm, and safe, and cherished. Special. That was rather how Tir made him feel. And that, he reasoned, was why so many people had followed him. Because there was just something about him that was so singularly special, you couldn't keep yourself from adoring him.  
  
"I've heard what you're doing," Tir continued. "Not all the details, of course. Something about gathering the Elemental Runes. I don't need to hear any more. I have memories in my Rune, too. If you don't want to talk about it... but that's why you came, isn't it?"  
  
It was. He'd tracked the hum of McDohl's Rune for miles, uprooting from the hotel they'd established as their temporary base and crossing miles across the Grasslands to come here, to Vinay del Zexay, where he had heard stories of a deep-eyed boy and his cross-scarred guardian. Yuber had laughed at him, said something teasing--and perhaps not unserious--about stealing that powerful Rune, but he had come anyway. Chance--or fate, the Runebearer's cold mistress--had dictated that both of them be lying in this same inn, this same night. It didn't matter. He would have found him eventually.  
  
But he couldn't say all that. So he just said, "Just doing my small part for the world."  
  
Tir smiled and looked down at the table, as if he would laugh if he looked at Luc instead. "Oh. Two wars wasn't enough for you?"  
  
"No," said Luc sarcastically. "I had to start one."  
  
They were both too old to pass judgment. Tir merely nodded. "I understand," he said. "I don't agree, but I do understand. I must tell you, though, that I don't think it will work."  
  
Luc scowled. Constructive criticism wasn't something he'd really been expecting. "Oh? And why not?"  
  
Tir set both elbows on the table and crossed his hands. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts; Tir rarely spoke without considering carefully what he was going to say. "Luc... you and I bear True Runes. It was fate, and not conscious decision that led us to this point, in my opinion. You rail at that fate, you're bitter because you were forced to bear such a burden. It was never a choice. But the Flame Champion... did he choose his Rune?"  
  
"Hugo is a foolish brat," Luc said heatedly. "He wants fame and glory. He doesn't know...."  
  
"No, he doesn't," Tir interrupted him patiently. "He doesn't know at all. Soon he will. Soon he will watch his mother age and pass away, and he will know the pain of losing a loved one while he is still youthful and strong. For a Karayan, it will be doubly bitter. You and I know this. Regardless. He chose that path. No invisible hand bent his heart to it. With all his mind and all his strength, he wanted that Rune, and it sensed that and chose him."  
  
The busty waitress wandered back over, winking flirtily at them, and Tir accepted more milk. After he had taken a swallow and set his glass down, Luc noticed with amusement that he had a small white mustache. Absently, Tir wiped it away and continued, "You and I had seen two wars before we had even turned twenty. I think it's because of your kindness that it angered you so, that people couldn't seem to break free from that cycle. For now, Toran is free from war, but people have short memories. Soon war will sweep over it again. Lepant knows that, and he wants me to be leader because of it; because I will never have a short memory, and I will always remember the basic nature of people--and of the Runes."  
  
"You'll remember humans' stupidity," Luc said. "And their blind content to remain locked in a cycle of death and pain."  
  
"Yes, that is what I'll remember," Tir agreed. "But I'll also remember Gremio, who gave his life to save me. And my father, who did the same because he honored my choice. And Nanami, who would rather let herself die than let her brother make the wrong choices. Do you think humans are that limited? We _have_ choices. We do. You're taking all the choices away from us. Let humans choose chaos. Let them choose order. Have a little faith that they'll choose what's right."  
  
And he most certainly hadn't expected this. It made him more disappointed than he would have thought, that Tir, to whom he'd given over so many of _his_ choices so long ago, didn't understand, either. But then, McDohl was only human.  
  
"Don't," said Tir, looking into his face searchingly. "Don't think things like that. I _told_ you I understand."  
  
There was silence. Luc drained the rest of his tea; the flirty waitress brought over another. He didn't tip her. Tir finished his milk, but set the glass aside and watched Luc.  
  
"You," Luc said finally, "you, of all people, should know what I'm trying to do. For now you're safe--for now you're not causing anyone pain--but when your Rune begins to hunger, you won't be able to ignore its call. To war you'll go--because there is always war, somewhere in this damn world--and you'll take lives, and you'll cause suffering, and you will suffer because it eats at you, the Rune's hunger and your own guilt and all the lives you've taken. How can you tell me you're willing to let anyone else go through that? To let anyone else be _chosen_ by a Rune and never change, just watch everyone die and always be bound to what that damn Rune wants?"  
  
"I wouldn't wish it on anyone." Unconsciously, perhaps, Tir rubbed his right hand, a small grimace twisting his mouth. "But like I said... sometimes people want it. And if they don't, they can choose what they do with it."  
  
"Well, I'm choosing what I want to do with my Rune. And I don't want anyone else to have to bear a Rune. That's my choice."  
  
The waitress was back, leaning over their table. For the first time, Luc looked into her face, and was startled to see that she was older than he had thought; far from being in her twenties, she looked more in her forties, thick lines around her mouth and eyes giving lie to her youthful attitude. She looked very tired. "It's one in the morning, sugars," she said. "You'll have to move out. We close now."  
  
They both rose. So, Luc thought, that was it. He had been scolded like a child--as Leknaat had done--by one barely older than he, and none of his questions answered. He was prepared to depart in bitter silence when Tir touched his arm and said, "Wait. Come with me. I want to show you something."  
  
Tir led him down the inn's night-darkened hallway. At the end of the hallway was a set of stairs; Luc's room was upstairs, but Tir led him down into another hallway and opened the last door. The room was dark enough that Luc had to step gently; but as his eyes adjusted, he looked around automatically for Tir's constant companion. The room had only one bed, though, and Tir's travel pack sat alone next to the headboard.  
  
"Gremio is in the next room," Tir said by way of explanation. "I don't like him sleeping with me when we can afford separate rooms. I keep him up, often."   
  
Luc nodded quietly. When Sarah had been younger, he'd often kept her in his rooms to comfort her, but as she'd grown older, his restless tossing and turning had kept her up far past her endurance. He suspected that she was pleased they could share rooms again, now that they were traveling.  
  
Tir was rummaging through his pack, an expression of distant frustration on his face. Luc smiled to see it; it was one he'd often wore during their first war together. With a pleased murmur, Tir produced a thick, square object, and turned to face Luc.  
  
"Got this from a mage," he said. "Gremio and I wandered down to a small village in Toran a few years back. I imagine it was modeled somewhat after the Village of the Hidden Rune. Everyone there is extraordinarily old. The women cooed over how young I was..." He chuckled. "The Soul Eater was weighing very heavily on me then--I always have trouble sleeping now, but then I could hardly eat. Gremio was fretting himself sick over me. I can't think of what was making it so bad; now that I look back on it, everything seems hazy and disconnected. Staying there healed me somewhat, but when we were ready to leave, I still wasn't quite myself. The elder took me aside and gave me this. He told me a story. It helped me. Here, look." He pressed the object into Luc's hands.  
  
Reluctantly, Luc took it. It was heavy and smooth in his hands, but brittle from age, ready to crack into pieces if he wasn't careful. It was a wood carving. He turned it over, frowning, trying to place the style. It didn't resemble the highly stylized art of Toran, but it didn't quite fit the realism of the Dunan states, either. It might even be older than either of those nations. It seemed quite likely it was so; pockets of these elderly Runebearers, born before the world was civilized, existed in continents all over the world, and to be accepted into one was a hard thing. He didn't doubt Tir had done it.  
  
Luc caught his breath in an envious sigh and looked down at it. Carved in careful detail in the center of the wood was a figure lying still, arms crossed diagonally across the chest, face smooth and even in repose. They were lying on some sort of bier. That calm, peaceful expression caught the eye; but more enthralling than that was the carving on the figure's hand, small but precise: a Rune. Like its owner, it rested, peaceful and undemanding.  
  
"An idealized vision of a sealed Rune," said Tir softly. "Of course, the Runebearer is dying. Yet he is free from his Rune. And the Rune, for now, sleeps. At ease."  
  
"If you think my reasons are purely selfish--" began Luc, stung.  
  
"I've often thought about doing that," Tir continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Sealing the Soul Eater and resting. If I sealed it I would die, I know that; it's taken too much energy for me to able to live afterwards. And yet it's tempting, to be free from the Rune, to not have to wander forever and try to keep it from becoming too active.  
  
"You know I hate this Rune. I despise its hold on me and I despise what it's done, and what it still longs to do. Still.... I would be lying if I said it was purely hate I felt towards it. It's not; I'm only human, after all. I'm glad that I have the opportunity to change things, to influence fate. I often used to wonder why such a powerful Rune was given to me." He shrugged. "I don't wonder that anymore."  
  
Luc sat down heavily on the bed, still holding onto the carving. "You may be able to change fate, and be glad you can do it. But I can change fate too, and take all that pain away from you! Why can't you understand?"  
  
Tir shook his head. "Changing fate," he said, "is about choices. We all have our destiny, Luc, but it's our own individual choices that shape it. _I_ believe, and the Soul Eater has taught me, that fate is something that is moldable. And that's what being human is about. If you try to take away free will, you're merely succumbing to the True Runes and perpetuating a cycle of misery."  
  
How one so clever and wise could so misunderstand was beyond Luc. He shook his head, suddenly exhausted. "You don't understand," he said heavily. "You'll never understand."  
  
He started to give the carving back; but Tir shook his head and pressed it back into his hands. "You keep it. I'm done with it. I've gotten my strength from it." He smiled sweetly.  
  
Their parting was no different from their last, if a bit forced. Tir embraced him timidly, as if afraid Luc would call up some golem from the earth to devour him if he pressed any harder. Fondly, like Luc was a little child, he patted Luc's hair and then--infuriatingly--tweaked his nose. Luc slapped his hand, the one that bore the Rune, and Tir laughed and danced away.  
  
At the door, Luc paused and looked at him. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, peeling off his gloves, revealing the dark raised tattoo of the Rune on his right hand. "Tir," he said. "If I fail...."  
  
Tir tilted his head, a frown shadowing his brow. "Yes?"  
  
Luc took a breath, sighed it out. "Well... remember me."  
  
He closed the door on Tir's thoughtful nod and blooming, gentle smile. 

Time will say nothing but I told you so,   
Time only knows the price we have to pay;   
If I could tell you I would let you know. 

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,   
If we should stumble when musicians play,   
Time will say nothing but I told you so. 

There are no fortunes to be told, although,   
Because I love you more than I can say,   
If I could tell you I would let you know. 

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,   
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;   
Time will say nothing but I told you so. 

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,   
The vision seriously intends to stay;   
If I could tell you I would let you know. 

Suppose all the lions get up and go,   
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;   
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?   
If I could tell you I would let you know.   
-- "If I Could Tell You," W.H. Auden 


End file.
